*… night had long since fallen when Iljian returned to his home. With clouds covering the sky it was a dark night, yet inside a lighthouse there was always that soft, ambient light flooding through all the windows that was that much of a comfort whenever he returned to it. Inside it was stuffy however and after opening the windows he climbed up onto the tower, sitting in the cool breeze. The papers in his hand flapped slightly in the wind, making a constant, unnerving reminder of their contents.
Emsay Rhalen, merchant, somewhere in his third decade. Fell of his horse during a caravan.
Yeria Tsun, banker, six and forty years. Swamp fever after a visit to Delucia.
Iljian shook his head. When had the town and its people changed that much? Ever since his return, there had been more and more mysteries and riddles and some people were strangers now rather than the friends that they had once, at least in his opinion, been.
Ightl Bleet (what a name), thirty years. Food poisoning after a banquet in Nujal’m.
It had taken Iljian some days to realise how bad it really was. To look at someone and not be sure anymore of who they really were and what their intentions might be. To think back at recent and not so recent events, wondering if everything had really been like he had thought. After all, nobody but those who had been inside the hole really knew what had taken place within and it would be so very easy to make things up, would it not be? Especially since there hadn’t been any clues left afterwards. No traces of a fight, nothing. Just the vines and dead plants and fungi. It had been him with the crystals as well, him who had spent as much time around the strange structures as he had. What if the crystals hadn’t really been sending the voices from that place but elsewhere? What if someone had known they would be there and deceived them willingly? He had been the one to summon that oracle thing as well, from what Iljian had heard. And maybe other things…
„Lady“ Essgha, whore house mother in Britain. Age unknown. Found after… stuff.
Per'dar Lren, merchant and diplomat from Magincia. Slipped and fell in the bath.
“Old Asmos”, seventh decade. Tavern owner in Skara Brae. Old age.
The list continued oh so much longer. He had been to each of those towns, digging through the old archives, where they could still be used. None had cared at the time, none wondered. None would now, he supposed. The family and relatives, if they even remembered at all and could still be found, would hardly welcome the thought that Old Asmos for example had not just fallen asleep peacefully, thank the virtues. Dead, dead and dead. Each and every one of them. And nobody had touched those records in years; Iljian had checked that as well. With a frown he took up the quill.
Quote:
To Duke Irvyn Middlethorn
Mylord,
I have begun to check the list we have been given. After trying to confirm about half of the names I have to report that the records of about one third of them all could be found and that names, dates and places match to those given to us. I will continue to try and clear the rest, yet it becomes harder as the dates reach many years into the past. In addition, I will send word to Lady Madeline at her teahouse and request a potion or recipe since her knowledge on herb lore and alchemy will surpass mine for certain. See list of names and confirmations attached.
Iljian
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Quote:
To Lady Madeline Warmbow, teahouse south of Trinsic
Hello, I need to discuss a recipe and potion urgently. Please tell me a date and time when it will be possible to meet you.
Many thanks, Iljian.
P.S. I hope the children are fine and happy.
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The list fluttered in the wind once more and Iljian scowled at it once more, for all the good it would do. Grandfather. The last name on that list and the only one that Iljian felt not pity for. While he was not in favour of either assassination or execution, this case had a certain touch of… fate to it. He had it coming. That sort of thing. As for the others… whatever else they had been other than what the records said, it did not matter. Murder was murder. Wire in the ear, what a sick and twisted…
Forcing his mind off the events, Iljian took a deep breath of the cool night air. A moment later he picked up his pen and began to scribble once more, trying to sum up the numerous events of the last days.
Quote:
I do not think there has been any report for a while, so I am trying to catch up some.
Few days ago, Stewan fell into the hole at the temple. Due to the poisonous vines within, all of his memories concerning the events of that night have been lost. I interviewed Isolda and T’lara to find out what they could hear and see outside of the cave and copies of both can be asked of me. It has to be assumed that Stewan could suffer from potentially long-lasting effects of the poisoning and all guards are asked to report any strange or unusual behaviour of him to the Duke or me. Afterwards, the area around the temples remained quiet and there have been no more strange incidents that we know of.
The strange priest that had come to Trinsic some weeks ago was allowed his talk to Lady Alraune, in which he accused her repeatedly of being a daemon and other things. However, he mentioned some things that might be cause for worry. In especially, he announced the coming of an evil woman to Trinsic in search for Lady Alraune. Apparently, said woman is a relative of sorts to her and matches her description, with the difference that this woman has nearly white skin and black hair, so somewhat opposite from Lady Alraune herself. I would ask all guards to pay attention to visitors to spot such a woman and report her as well as any queer or unusual behaviour from either Lady Alraune or Sir Adammair to the Duke.
Other than those two incidents, the town was mostly quiet. Two men disguised as Vesperians spread lies and slander about the Duke and Trinsic. If found spreading such again they are to be detained, questioned and kept until the Duke decides what to do to them. A brigand tried to steal my uniform, but they weren’t too bright about it. I’ll write a warrant later. Pay attention and don’t turn your back on oddly-behaving strangers. A lot of drow came to Trinsic lately, some of them of the old Von’Sah clan, but they made no trouble. The Britannian Guards appear to have lost their Baron to Vesperians. Seems that lot wanted to have at least one suitable candidate residing in town during the elections, even if their rules forbid them to nominate him. Someone said that the one called Heath got elected in the end.
Dawn is trying to set up a bagball team for Trinsic, if you are interested talk to her.
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It was deep in the night already when Iljian finally dropped the quill and rubbed his aching hand. And he would have to get up early in the morning in order to continue on the list. With a deep yawn he began to gather up his papers.
Triana Sari, seamstress. Two and thirty years of age. Reason of death unknown.
Iljian frowned. Not unknown anymore.*